


Faithful Eyes

by avadedrahetarra



Category: Dir en grey, Japanese Rock, Jrock
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-18
Updated: 2014-11-18
Packaged: 2018-02-26 03:16:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,012
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2636027
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/avadedrahetarra/pseuds/avadedrahetarra
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He’s spent years watching him, waiting for him. Protecting him. Protecting him from the world, and from himself.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Faithful Eyes

Die had spent most of his life in quiet observation of others, had spent hours upon hours and years upon years just watching the human race. He learned their habits, their quirks, their ideals, and their irritations. He learned their expressions, how to read their true meaning in their bodies rather than hear it in their words.

And when it came to Kyo, although harder, it was no different.

Perhaps from the start, Die had known that there was something about Kyo that no one else would ever understand. Not for lack of trying, but for lack of the ability to put the pieces in proper order and see the whole of the puzzle.

When first the band had been created, Kyo was one unto himself. None of them could get close to the vocalist. He just refused to let anyone in. His attitudes and behavior set him apart from the rest of the music world, forging for him a unique and unmatchable place the musical hierarchy. Granted, they were a Visual Kei band, but often times, the small man liked to push even the limits of that. His eccentricities made him a fast oddity, unapproachable to some, terrifying to others.

No one remembered when the blood fetish began. It seemed that one day, Kyo suddenly had the desire to pretend to vomit blood onstage. No one challenged him, not even Kaoru, who had every right as the band leader. No one questioned his tactics. Or his sanity. It was simply something that Kyo did.

Kyo never really talked about himself, either. Where the other four spent time getting to know one another, going out to bars or relaxing at each other’s apartments or houses, Kyo always excused himself from them. He had his share of mornings when he came to practices or recording with a slight, and sometimes painful, hang over, but it was never the result of one of their group outings. Kyo’s want of a private life extended even to his drinking, it seemed.

Die made it a habit at some point to watch the vocalist. He was never able to remember when or why, only that he often times caught himself staring at Kyo, watching him through veiled, dark eyes. If the singer ever noticed, he never mentioned it to Die, or to anyone. None of the others seemed to notice, or to care. At times, Kyo seemed so far beyond them, they tended to discount him altogether.

Imagine his surprise the night Kyo came to Die, who had just seen a very drunk Shinya into a cab home, and asked to talk. Imagine his further surprise when Kyo began to cry.

In shocked silence, Die sat and listened as Kyo talked. And talked. In forced starts and stops, with many long stretches of silence, Kyo told Die about his past, about parts of his family history. Hours passed with the two of them sitting in the semi-darkness of Die’s living room. Kyo talked about his childhood, his lack of friends due to his introverted tendencies and his small physique. He talked about his parents and their view of their small, weak son.

When finally Kyo’s words had run their course, it was nearing dawn. The vocalist had, at some point, curled his physically, mentally, and emotionally exhausted body onto the couch, his head in Die’s lap. Die absently played with those dark locks, staring down into the tired, tear swollen face of his singer.

Kyo had quietly asked Die to take him to bed. Die, knowing that he would probably hate himself later, did as asked. Because even vulnerable and broken as he was, Kyo still carried an air of authority, and what Kyo wanted, Kyo got. Still, Die worried what would happen later.

In Die’s bed, beneath his sheets, when he felt Kyo’s tight heat close around him, he promptly forgot to worry. Within the vocalist’s body, their mouths locked together in a fierce kiss, Die suddenly understood that there was so much more to Kyo than anyone knew. And when Kyo had begun to moan out his name like a litany, Die felt the tears slide down his face as the worry rebuilt within his chest. Oh, how he would regret this later. When they reached their orgasms almost simultaneously, Die felt both his heart and his world shatter.

He woke hours later and found himself alone.

For weeks, neither he nor Kyo mentioned the encounter. By some silent agreement, they both pretended that it had never occurred. Things went on as they always had, except Die had a new angle from which to look at Kyo. He knew that Kyo’s past was riddled with pain and holes, even while he knew that he was not aware of the entire story.

A month passed before Kyo approached Die again. And the process repeated, time and again. When Kyo needed to talk, to express himself in such a way that his dark lyrics could not, Die would open the door for him. In return for a few more pieces of the Kyo puzzle, Die would gladly give himself up, sell his soul, and even suffer waking up alone. Because, in some twisted sense, it was what Kyo needed, what he demanded.

Die never let himself believe for a moment that there was anything between Kyo and himself. He knew that Kyo was using him, and he accepted that. He stood by and watched Kyo’s voice fall apart a little at a time, a combination of smoking and his love of screaming his lyrics rather than singing them. He was never sure, though, when the pain in his heart started.

It was shortly after Kyo’s dark hair had turned a shade of yellow-blonde and Die’s had gone to a more muted burgundy-red that the vocalist began to stay. Die woke one morning after one of their night long talks and was shocked to find Kyo still there, wrapped securely around the taller man’s thin frame. Die, although confused, held Kyo closer to him, reveling in the warmth he had only dreamed of gleaning from the other man.

At first, Kyo’s staying was sporadic at best, and he would always leave shortly after waking, barely saying a word. Die’s pain would peak and throb every time the door would close behind the blonde man, but he would always push it away, bury it underneath something dark and cold in the back of his mind.

One night, as they lay together, sweaty and sated bodies curled around one another, Kyo leaned close to Die’s ear and whispered something lightly into it before settling back against his pillow and letting sleep claim him. Die, though, snapped wide awake, his sex-induced euphoria swiftly fading as his mind went into overdrive. Had Kyo just said what it sounded like? What did it mean? What would change?

Die knew exactly what it would change. Everything.

Shortly after, Kyo’s self-mutilation kick began. They were all shocked when he revealed the angry cuts marring the skin of his chest, and even further dismayed when he displayed his new fetish onstage. Where the fans thought it was all play, just like the vomiting of the blood, the rest of the band fell into despair at the reality of the situation.

Die finally spoke up to Kyo, finally tore down his wall of silence and asked Kyo why. The smaller man’s anger was such that Die never wanted to face again. Even in the midst of all the angry words, the screamed accusations, Kyo’s face streamed with tears. Die finally managed to pin the angry vocalist to the floor, keeping his hands in a tight grip, before yanking aside the shirt that Kyo wore.

_“THIS, Kyo,” Die yelled, laying a hand against the newest set of cuts and scratches. “This will tear everything apart! Don’t you get that? Don’t you see that at all? You’re KILLING us!”_

_“Which US?” Kyo snarled. “The band, or you and me?”_

Die launched himself away from Kyo, terrified, and fled into his bedroom. Kyo refused to speak to him for a week, but most of the cutting stopped. Kyo’s attitude became surlier, harder to predict. Kaoru cornered Die after a particularly bad practice and told him to fix the problem with Kyo, or neither of them would have jobs anymore.

He went to Kyo’s apartment for the first time after the conversation with Kaoru. At first, he was unsure whether the vocalist would let him in or not, but he had to try. Because he cared. More than he wanted to admit, he cared about Kyo, because, it seemed, he was the only real friend Kyo had. Die tried to deny the real emotion that he felt, tried to tell himself that it wasn’t true.

There was no way in hell that he had fallen for Kyo.

Instead of being rebuked, Kyo surprised Die by leading him inside and even offering him dinner, if he was hungry. They passed a few hours in a friendly atmosphere, almost like there was nothing wrong, but they could tell there was a strain. Their glances, their struggle to maintain most of the conversation. The fact that Kyo started to drink heavily part way through dinner.

Die was the first to break. He asked Kyo again why. This time, the vocalist did not get angry. Instead, he took Die into the living room, stripped off his shirt, and proceeded to explain each and every cut he had made. Each stroke of blade or fingernail was made for a set purpose, with a simple meaning. Where others would see only random gouging, Kyo had pre-planned each movement down to the angle and depth.

The red headed man watched horrorstruck and awed as Kyo gently touched his scarring skin, his voice low, almost reverent in what he had done. When he finished, he stood and faced Die, eyes vulnerable, just as they had been that night a few years before in Die’s living room. He reached out to the small blonde man, drew him to stand before him, and kissed the broken skin.

Each brush of lips was met with a gracious sigh from the vocalists, fingers lacing gently into his hair. Die drew Kyo into his arms and kissed him, for the first time, with a passion he himself had not known he had. He stayed with Kyo that night, but instead of sex, they simply held one another. Everything was left unsaid in the darkness, but their hearts spoke volumes, beating together in the bed.

Kyo’s self-mutilation fascination never completely passed, but Die saw it change. It went from a gruesome, brutal act, to merely another prop for the band. Afterward, Die would tend to Kyo, ease the pain and stop the bleeding. And sometimes, on a rare occasion, the vocalist would smile for him. Die cherished those smiles, kept each and every one locked in his heart.

On that night, so many years ago, when at his most vulnerable, his most open and pained, Kyo allowed Die a glimpse of his inner being, his soul. From that night on, Die’s journey with Kyo took him further, took him closer, to the core of Kyo. And when he finally reached that place, Die did not find the man to be barren and void of emotions. He found that Kyo was a vibrant, beautiful person beneath all of his pain and struggle.

Die still watches Kyo, sometimes still worries about the small man and his quiet, guarded nature. He still eases Kyo’s pain as much as he can when it comes. And Kyo still stays through the night. Die wakes up most every morning to Kyo’s warmth next to him. It’s been so long, he can hardly remember a day without it. Ups and downs, dark times and bright times, Die has stood by Kyo, watched him, taken care of him. And in return, Kyo has given Die the one thing in the world that he has yet to lose completely to his pain.

His heart. 


End file.
